The Men Next Door

Ch 11 - Campbell

When I headed for the kitchen the next morning, eyes still swollen from my self-imposed pity party, my attention was drawn to the faded yellow notepad by the espresso machine. I remembered moving it off my countertop the night before to give Brooks more room for his mixing bowls, but I was pretty sure it had landed on my desk—not underneath the mug that looked strikingly similar to the sticker on those aquarium-inspired hand soaps.

Pulling the notepad free from the makeshift paperweight, my hands traced over the fresh words on the page.

Cam,

Thanks for trusting me. I'm here if you need me. Really.

Brooks had scrawled his phone number at the bottom with a goofy-looking smiley face, and I simultaneously held back a grin and another round of tears.

He did everything right, from making sure I wanted to continue at every turn, to stopping when he did, to giving me space to process what I needed to alone. I couldn't have asked for anything better. But I'd already dumped enough of my baggage at his doorstep, and I didn't know how to explain my emotions without offloading a whole other suitcase, so I rushed him out the door the second my mind was clear enough to think.

I wasn't sure if I was ready for someone like him. Or if he was ready for someone like me, rather. Not to mention Luca, and the messy love triangle that I could feel looming over all of us every time I pressed the button for the elevator, and the terrible lessons I'd learned the last time I'd gotten involved with a friend.

Avoiding Brooks until the next time chance thrust us together felt even scarier than facing what we did the night before, though, so I shot off a quick text before making a foamy latte and settling in at my desk.

Me: It's not every day I wake up to a handwritten note

I went through most of my work day without hearing anything back, and I almost convinced myself that he was never going to respond. But the more I thought about Brooks—about the way he talked and told me exactly what he wanted, exactly how he was feeling—I realized he wouldn't have left his number if he didn't intend for me to reach out. It was a Monday, after all, and he was probably busy with client projects or chores or some other adult-y responsibilities.

And just when I was closing up shop for the day, my phone finally vibrated against the edge of the desk.

Brooks: It should be :)

A few seconds later, another message came through.

Brooks: Do you have a minute?

Me: Depends...

Me: What for?

Brooks: Quick check in. Want to make sure you're feeling okay after last night.

My heart pounded in my chest as I considered his meaning. Last night as in the way I let him coax me through an earth shattering orgasm? Or the mini breakdown I'd had after he was gone from my apartment? Both options felt like bomb-riddled mazes, so I kept my answer vague and safe.

Me: Yeah, just a little tired

Brooks: You sure?

Brooks: You seemed a little shaken right before I left.

I blinked at the screen, dumbfounded as I tried to think of a witty response to throw him off my trail. But by the time I had typed and erased four different options, my phone started buzzing in my hand.